


Whumptober 2020

by Arcturis



Category: Lucifer (TV), Merlin (TV), Supernatural, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Dean Winchester is Protective of Sam Winchester, Demon Blood, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Dolls, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Guilt, Hostage Situations, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders, JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders Spoilers, Kakyoin Noriaki Has PTSD, King Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Kujo Jotaro Has Feelings, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Whump, Lucifer in the Cage (Supernatural), Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), M/M, Nightmares, Past Torture, Post-JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Dean Winchester, Psychological Torture, Running, Running Away, Sam Winchester Detoxing From Demon Blood, Sam Winchester Whump, Sam Winchester in Lucifer's Cage, Sam Winchester on Demon Blood, Souls, Survivor Guilt, Torture, Whump, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arcturis/pseuds/Arcturis
Summary: Ah yes, my favourite time of year. The best weather. The best holiday. Inktober. And this wonderful project. Last year was solely Supernatural but I'll be including other fandoms this year that I will specify chapter to chapter. Tags will be updated as they come. Enjoy!
Relationships: Kakyoin Noriaki/Kujo Jotaro, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 31





	1. We Should Hang Out Sometime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders
> 
> Waking up Restrained || Shackled || Hanging

“Kakyoin. Oh, but you _are_ my favourite. No one’s ever given me a run quite like you did. You were only one step behind. Everyone else was … well. Let’s just say they couldn’t measure up.”

“Please.” It was the only thing he could do. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t cry or manifest Hierophant Green. He couldn’t even turn his head. All he could do was beg.

“Please what, my darling?” D’arby the Younger had his clammy hands all over his body. Or, what served as his body now, though Kakyoin refused to term it as such. It was hardly a receptacle; merely a shoddy bit of fabric and wood to house his stolen soul.

“Don’t call me that.” The force with which his voice uttered the command shocked Kakyoin, but D’arby only smiled indulgently.

“Oh? But you’re my favourite.” A long, cold finger stroked down what served as his cheek and Kakyoin swore he could feel it and his very soul shuddered. “We should hang out sometime,” he offered. “Perhaps free your soul for some game time. Would you like that, my dear?”

“Please. I need to go. Release me! What did you do to Mr. Joestar? _What did you do to Jotaro?”_ He was desperate now. The two men were not part of D’arby’s monstrous collection of souls. 

“Now, that’s not a very grateful way to treat your savior.” D’arby’s voice grew less gentlemanly. 

“You didn’t save me, you trapped me here! My life is _nothing_!”

“I didn’t trap you. You gave up, remember? Just like you did with Lord Dio.” Kakyoin was almost grateful he couldn’t vomit. The waves of shame and self-revulsion emanated from his soul so vibrantly that his captor’s lips turned upwards in a sly smile. “You see? You know it. This is your own doing, dear Kakyoin. I did nothing more than place a bet. Now, I think I’ll bring you to bed with me. The nights can get so lonely.”

______________________________________________

“Kakyoin! Wake up!” Shaking accomplished nothing. Shaking was difficult regardless, the man was so slick with sweat. It coated his pale skin like oil and Jotaro was having a difficult time keeping his grip. Kakyoin’s face was twisted in fear and the sheets wrapped around him as if they were chains binding him down. “I said _wake up_!” Something between a sob and a scream ripped from his chest and Jotaro slapped him sharply in the face. Kakyoin came to with a ragged gasp, letting out another cry of panic as he fought to free himself from the sheets. “Kakyoin, knock it off! You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He eased slightly, bare chest still heaving with too-fast breaths. Jotaro could see his eyes fluttering as the remnants of the dream faded and the man returned to reality. “Jotaro.”

“I’m here,” the other man assured. “You need to calm down. It was just a nightmare.”

“Jotaro help me. Please, I need to get up!” He was fighting with the sheets again and Jotaro batted his hands away, freeing Kakyoin from the cloth. The ginger leapt out of bed immediately, anxiously pacing the room. The scars on his eyes and chest were vibrantly contrasted between the darkness of their room and his pale skin, but they were fleeting glimpses in the frequency with which he changed direction.

“Was it Dio?” Jotaro asked softly. Kakyoin froze for a few silent moments before collapsing to his knees, silent sobs wracking his wiry frame. Alarmed, Jotaro knelt beside him, pulling the shaking form against his chest. Fingers wove their soothing way along Kakyoin’s scalp, whispering against the silky strands. He wasn’t sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all. Violent expressions of emotion like this were, admittedly, not his strongest suit in their relationship.

“I’m sorry,” he heard Kakyoin gasp.

“Don’t be stupid, you have nothing to apologize for,” Jotaro murmured.

“Like hell I don’t!” He ripped himself from Jotaro’s embrace and sat on the edge of the bed, face held in his hands. “I couldn’t do it. I almost trapped your soul for eternity. How could I have been so stupid?”

Jotaro frowned. “You’re talking about D’Arby?” The flinch his question caused made him frown harder. Kakyoin had never spoken of his short experience as a soul puppet. Jotaro had assumed that in the two-month span of never-ending horrors that had been their hunt for Dio, that it had ranked pretty low. Clearly he’d been wrong. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t release you sooner.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Kakyoin said vehemently. “You wouldn’t have had to save me if I hadn’t been so … if I’d – “

“Stop.” Jotaro’s voice was firm. “D’arby was a sadistic fuck who happened to be wicked smart on top of it. We all had our share of losing. You, me, the old man. Whoever had played him first would have lost before we learned better. You just drew the short stick.”

“It’s not just that, Jotaro. It’s not just that I failed, although that was bad enough. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t manifest my Stand. It was hard enough just to talk and … and he whispered things to me.”

That surprised Jotaro. He hadn’t seen D’arby say anything to Kakyoin’s puppet. “What things?” The hard shudder and the way Kakyoin tightened into himself made him regret the question. He didn’t answer and Jotaro didn’t ask again. He wrapped an arm around Kakyoin and pulled him into his side. “It’s over with,” he said quietly. “Those monsters are in the past and can’t threaten our future. It was just a dream.”

There were a few moments of silence as Kakyoin sorted through the dream and Jotaro’s words. “I’m sorry for waking you,” he said after a while.

“It’s fine,” Jotaro replied easily. “Are you ok to come back to bed?” Kakyoin nodded and he led the man back under the sheets, pulling him back against his body. He felt Kakyoin lay against his muscled chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Don’t let me go,” Kakyoin muttered. Adrenaline had worn off, leaving him spent and exhausted and he lost the battle to keep his eyes open.

Jotaro pulled his unconscious form closer, rage on Kakyoin’s behalf carefully contained to keep from reawakening him. “Never,” he promised quietly, no one to hear him but the night’s darkness.


	2. In the Hands of the Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural
> 
> "Pick who dies" || Collars || Kidnapped

Skin has melted with fabric into some new abomination, transforming his smoking body into something _other._ He’d shredded his vocal cords over ten minutes ago, but his mouth is still agape in a grotesque paroxysm of a scream. The flames have evaporated most of the moisture in his body by now, keeping him from writhing in agony. By rights, he should have died by now. He supposed, in a manic sort of thought process, that dying was no longer an option.

Lucifer would never allow him to get off that easily.

Through the flames, as though acting as a truth-revealing filter, shows Lucifer’s true form. His mind has already broken from the impossibility. In some warped form of celestial paradox, he is both too large for the Cage and yet infinitely imprisoned. Multiple faces are punctuated by burning red eyes. The form has three sets of downy-grey, celestial wings, something entirely too beautiful to belong to the definition of evil. And the _scream_. That alone would have driven Sam to madness. He’s never heard so much rage and hatred embodied in one splitting sound.

The screaming ends with deafening suddenness. There’s a sharp crack in the air like the enhanced snapping of fingers and Sam’s mind and soul become whole once more. His virtual resurrection is more terrifying than burning alive. Before he can properly restore air to his lungs, the breath tasting like ash, Lucifer has him by the throat and slams him against the bars. His massive wings are unfurled to their fullest extent. The soft grey feathers are at an incredible contrast with this fallen angel, as if to serve a reminder of who and _what_ he had once been and that, too, is terrifying. Sam’s never seen such a potent expression of unadulterated hatred as that on Lucifer’s face as his red eyes flare again.

“You’re _mine_!” Lucifer snarls. “You will redefine the meaning of pain and suffering.” He tightens his grip and Sam’s neck snaps. Somehow he’s still alive, but his lungs are paralyzed and he can’t scream.

A snap of Lucifer’s fingers and he is made whole.

“You cannot begin to imagine the genres of pain I will inflict.”

He plunges a fist into Sam’s chest and it emerges with his still-beating heart before his mind has time to register the trauma. The agony hits a split second later and he collapses with sounds he didn’t realize he was capable of. Those same sounds raise in pitch until they’re inaudible as Lucifer squeezes the heart in his hand until it explodes.

Another snap. Another resurrection.

Sam is slammed to the Cage’s floor and feels the weight of Lucifer’s body on top of him just a moment before the Archangel’s thumbs are slammed into his eyes, pushing farther and farther into his skull. Sam is screaming, hands wrapped futilely against the Devil’s wrists, feeling the frostbitten cold of his skin. He can feel the rivulets of blood flowing down his temples and he bucks helplessly, trying to get Lucifer off of him, but those impossible wings are out, shifting to counterbalance and Sam finds it impossible to free himself.

_Snap._

He’s standing in the middle of the Cage, chains ripping through his torso, his arms, his legs, binding him in the center of their new home. Sam pants, blood dribbling down his chin with the occasional cough. His body is alight with agony; every movement agitates the chains running through his body. Hard shudders wrack his frame and he hates the fact he can’t control the moans and soft cries that escape his lips. Lucifer walks slowly towards him until his face is inches from Sam’s.

“This is your doing.” The soft voice can’t hide the rage that Sam can feel rippling in his direction. “Do you realize what you’ve done? Your eternity is in _my hands_ and I will make you _suffer!_ ” The words escalate to Lucifer’s true voice and Sam can feel the blood dripping from his ears.

There is nowhere left to run.


	3. My Way or the Highway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BBC's Merlin
> 
> Manhandled || Forced to their Knees || Held at Gunpoint

Arthur shrugged, the action impeded by the firm way his hands were tied behind his back. “Do as you will, he’s just a servant.” His gaze met Merlin’s briefly, hoping the quick look conveyed his silent message. _I’m lying. You have to know I’m lying to get us out of this mess._

Merlin was on his knees in front of him, a meaty hand gripping the back of his neck uncomfortably. He swore internally. This was an absolute disaster. Any dredges of sympathy for Morgana were gone and, if she’d been here, he would have told her so. Instead she’d sent a new troupe of half-assed sorcerers for them. The hand gripping him sparked with magic, making his neck tingle like the area had fallen asleep. Yet he could do nothing with Arthur conscious without giving himself away and he didn’t feel like giving up his biggest secret unless he truly had no other option to save them.

The rogue magician shrugged in return. “As you wish, your Majesty,” he leered mockingly, the country accent grating on both men’s ears. He unsheathed his sword, noting the panic in Arthur’s eyes with a grin.

And then he swung.

“Wait! No!” Arthur _screamed_ the words. “ _Merlin!”_

The blade halted a couple of centimetres into the side of Merlin’s neck. The impulse to stop had originated in the captor’s mind as soon as Arthur had changed his mind, but if Merlin hadn’t pulsed his magic, the blade would have stopped too late and he’d be missing his head. As it was, the steel was a hair’s breadth from his carotid and he felt his heart flutter in fear and adrenaline. The blade removed itself with a sharp sting of pain and Merlin fell limply on his back, small noises of fear-driven relief echoing in the cave. He turned his eyes to Arthur and noted he was just as pale and trembling with adrenaline.

“My, my, my.”

“Merlin?” Arthur couldn’t hide the faint tremour in his voice, no matter how hard he tried.

“M’fine,” came the quiet murmur. “Just a close call.”

“How the tables have turned.”

Arthur shot the man a look of such venom and promised violence that he almost lost his resolve before his face split into a shit-eating grin. “Looks like we’ve found your weakness, my King. And it’s just a lowly servant. Looks like Morgana was right.”

“Merlin is more of a man than you could ever hope to be,” Arthur snarled. Merlin felt his heart leap in circles at the words before he barked out a cry, curling into his stomach as the brute stomped on it hard. “Merlin!”

It was hard to breathe and he fought for each precious bit of oxygen. Blinding pain erupted behind him as he was kicked viciously, the boot aiming for one of his kidneys.

“I will skin you alive!” Arthur screamed, fighting against the two men holding him back.

“Now that’s an idea,” the sorcerer said thoughtfully. He pulled out a hunting knife and flattened Merlin on his back, sitting atop him to keep him down. He was so much bigger than the manservant, tall and beefy against Merlin’s slight wiriness. He hadn’t a hope of escape, and every man in the cave knew it.

“Don’t you touch him.” Arthur spat, wrestling against his captors. “One more hand upon him will ensure your demise.”

“Tough words for a King barely into manhood,” came the answering snicker. He pulled Merlin’s shirt up to reveal the pale stomach, still heaving in pain from his short beating.

“Don’t!” Desperation entered Arthur’s voice, but the blade was already dragging a line down Merlin’s skin bringing streams of crimson with it. Merlin’s eyes were shut tight, breathing hitched in pain. The blade was dull and he realized this was probably deliberate. “Please, I’ll - !”

“Arthur, no!” Merlin’s voice was high with pain, but his words were firm. “I’m not worth it.”

“Like hell you aren’t!”

“I’m not worth it,” Merlin repeated. “I’m just a servant.”

He was so much more than that and they both knew it. But if anyone knew that they were … involved, for lack of better phrasing, they’d be absolutely fucked. They were in a bad situation as it was. “You do not command me,” Arthur spat through clenched teeth.

Merlin’s reply was lost in a gasp as the blade dragged a second line of bright red down his stomach, deeper than the first. As it bit towards his hip, the steel carved deeper, earning a sharp cry of pain as it graced against bone. Arthur nearly broke free at the agonized sound as it punched into his soul, but his vision swam from a blow to his skull and he fell to his knees.

“Let’s stop beating around the bush, shall we? We’ve got you by the balls here, we all know it. Now, we’re doing this my way or … well. T’would be a shame to kill such a pretty pet.”

Arthur’s vision cleared at Merlin’s scream, gaze sharpening to find the hunting knife hilt-deep in his shoulder. That massive hand twined itself in Merlin’s dark hair, forcing his head to the side to expose the deep cut in the side of his neck. “Do we understand each other?”

Defeat weighed itself on his shoulders, so potent Arthur thought everyone could see it weighing him down. The fight in his spirit fled as his sole goal solidified into making sure Merlin made it out of this alive. He nodded brokenly. “We do.”


	4. Running Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jojo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders
> 
> Caged || Buried Alive || Collapsed Building

“Hurry it up, old man!”

“I’m going as fast as I can here, Jotaro.”

“It’s not enough, where are they? They have to be here somewhere!”

Kakyoin was unconscious, the gaping hole in his sternum blending the rivers of blood with the water of the busted tower. Jotaro was desperate. He kept a firm hand on the jacket he was using in a vain attempt to stem the flow of blood. The other hand was locked to Kakyoin’s wrist, keeping a mental eye on the dying man’s pulse.

As soon as he was sure of Dio’s demise, Jotaro had roused his grandfather, ordering him to call the Speedwagon Foundation upon his recount of Kakyoin’s fate. There had been too much death in this quest; Avdol, Iggy, the countless innocent bystanders. He refused to allow Kakyoin to join those statistics.

“You’re not gonna fucking die, you hear me?” he forced out through gritted teeth. “Do you hear me?”

Kakyoin didn’t, of course. He’d been out cold when they got to him and hadn’t roused in the slightest. Jotaro was alarmed by how swiftly his skin was turning to ice, the slowing of his faint heartbeat.

“We’re running out of time!” he shouted, to no one in particular. Polnareff shifted anxiously. He had attempted to help him in the beginning, but Jotaro had shoved him aside. There was little to be done without the medical expertise of the Speedwagon Foundation and Jotaro wasn’t about to let anyone interfere and waste precious seconds of his friends quickly fading life. It was an unfair thought process, but Polnareff didn’t hold it against the man in the present situation. Through all of their peril and heartbreak, the Frenchman had never seen Jotaro so out-of-control. There was a wildness to those aqua eyes that promised death upon anyone who interfered. But to one who had such an urgent need to help those around him, Polnareff was finding it hard to stand back and merely watch. He’d placed himself next to the two men and stood guard, anxiety making him shift his feet frequently. He checked the time every few seconds, but time seemed to drag on indefinitely and it reminded him uncomfortably of The World’s power.

“Jotaro, listen!” Joseph called urgently to his grandson. The younger man stilled and listened, head cocked, until he heard the faint drone of a helicopter drawing closer.

“About damn time,” he snapped. “You hear that, Kakyoin? You’ve going to be just fine. They’re coming for you. They fixed your eyes, you’d better believe they’ll fix this too.”

Kakyoin’s pale features said nothing and, all the while, his pulse was slowing.


	5. Where Do You Think You're Going?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer (TV)
> 
> On the Run || Failed Escape || Rescue

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The question was taunting and it haunted Lucifer through the many doors he bolted through. This couldn’t be happening again. _This couldn’t be happening_!

“Brother, you can’t escape from me!“

Lucifer threw open yet another door and collided with Uriel. “No … “ His voice was numb as he looked down, Azrael’s blade embedded in his brother’s chest for the millionth time. He had to bite his lip to keep it from trembling. “Brother, end this. I beg of you!”

“You know the rules of hell better than anyone, Luci. You can’t escape from your own guilt.”

With a cry, the archangel wrenched himself from the bleeding body of his victim and charged through the door behind him.

“You can’t escape from your own guilt!” The cry rang behind him, infecting his mind and Grace with black dread.

_I have to find a way out of here!_ he thought desperately. _This can’t be my fate for eternity, I’m not meant to be here._ “I’m Hell’s King, not it’s prisoner!” he shouted, doing his best to convince himself that he didn’t belong.

He threw open another door and felt the blade sink sickeningly into his brother’s body. He felt everything; skin, muscles, sinew, bone. And the indescribable feeling of a celestial weapon slicing through an angel’s grace. Lucifer’s body wanted to vomit out the horror deep in his gut that manifested pinprick pain along his wings, but all he could do was gasp in horror as Uriel’s blood cascaded across his Italian suit.

“Brother, please,” he pleaded, trembling.

All that answered was a whisper into his ear. “You can’t escape from yourself.”


	6. Please ...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Supernatural
> 
> "Get it Out" || No More || "Stop, Please"

It was all he could to do keep from crying. But Dean Winchester did not cry, and certainly not in front of his kid brother.

Even if he was the cause.

Sam’s arms and legs yanked at the leather cuffs keeping him pinned to the infirmary bed. “Dean, please. _Please_! You can’t keep me like this!”

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean protested weakly. “You know I can’t let you up yet.”

“You’re killing me!”

“You know that’s not true, little brother.” Dean took another deep swig of his IPA. He couldn’t go for anything stronger, not when he had to keep an eye on Sam. “You came to me of your own free will.”

“For help, not this!”

Dean knew that arguing with Sam in this state wouldn’t do any good, that Sam would come up with any and every excuse and pushback, but it was better than keeping silent. A high keen made him look up at his bottle as Sam’s body spasmed in need. Dean ran his fingers through Sam’s sweat-soaked hair, murmuring quietly through Sam’s addiction driven fit. “Shhh, little brother. You’re fine. I know you don’t mean it.”

A tear fell from the corner of Sam’s eye. “Please, Dean, it’s burning me from the inside out.”

“I know, Sam. I can’t even imagine. But you’ve gotten through this several times over. You know, deep down, that you’ll make this too.”

“I can’t stand this,” Sam whispered brokenly before his back arched slightly in another all-consuming wave of need. The way his body tightened and strained defined his muscles almost-painfully and Dean winced in sympathy. He gulped down another mouthful of beer.

“Want some?” he asked casually, gesturing the bottle at Sam’s prone form.

“You know what I want,” the younger Winchester replied tightly.

“And you know that I can’t allow that.”

“You’re condemning me to death.”

Dean flinched; that one stung. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sam,” he snapped, before catching himself and taking a deep breath, trying against all odds to center himself. More calmly, he continued “You’re not going to die, Sam. I promise. Just hold on, this will wear out of your system soon enough.”

_Please let it be soon,_ he prayed silently, blinking away the tears that threatened to break through his hold. _We can’t keep doing this. Please help us._


	7. I've Got You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BBC's Merlin
> 
> Support || Carrying || Enemy to Caretaker

“Easy there, Merlin. I’ve got you.” Arthur readjusted the body of his manservant, surprisingly weighty despite his slight build. “I need to stop feeding you so well,” he muttered.

A weak smile displayed itself on Merlin’s face despite the cough that momentarily wracked his frame. “Y’don’t feed me,” he slurred, wiping the dribble of blood from his lips. “Gaius does.”

“Yeah, well Gaius may rethink that when he sees how much trouble you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“Well if you didn’t leap into danger without thinking, I wouldn’t have been in the way.”

That stung, despite Merlin’s joking demeanor. He was right of course, this was his fault. He should have waited a few more moments, gauged the situation before leaping in. For as many enemies as they’d been surprised with, it was a miracle that Merlin was the only one in the company with severe injuries, even if they couldn’t tell what had happened.

One of the assailants had had magic and had thrust a large ball of energy at Merlin, facing another enemy at the time. The energy had flung him back and into a tree with a sickening sound and now Merlin, well … no one really knew what was wrong with Merlin except for the fact that something _was_ wrong.

Another coughing fit shook Merlin’s already-weak body and his legs collapsed from under him, dragging Arthur down with a yelp. “By the gods, Merlin,” he muttered. His worry came across as irritation, bright blue eyes shining with anxiety as he looked his friend up and down, trying to assess the damage and what could be helped. Merlin was sickly pale, the colour gone from his lips. His chest moved light and fast in shallow breaths and droplets of blood flew from his mouth every time he coughed. Besides all that, there was something that Arthur, nor any of the knights, could identify. Some _wrongness_ that he couldn’t describe. The King put that off to the effects of magic but, knowing there was nothing to be done except get him back to Gaius for treatment, he felt a knot of unease growing in the pit of his stomach.

Merlin’s eyelids fluttered the knot hardened unpleasantly. “Merlin? Hey, come on you idiot” He slapped the man’s face lightly, adding more sting as Merlin failed to rouse. “Gwaine!” Arthur shouted. “Get me your horse!”

Gwaine’s face paled at the tone in Arthur’s voice and hurried to tack up Gringalet. He took great pride in the fact that she was the fastest horse in Camelot and gloated in the fact that the leggy dappled mare could outrun even Arthur’s white mare Llamrei. “Come on, love,” he whispered quietly into her ears as he placed the bridle. “You’ve got to run fast now, eh? You’re on a mission for the King now.” He moved to secure the saddle, trying to keep his voice steady as Gringalet shifted in response to her rider’s anxiety. “Shh, my love. Run hard; you’re the only one who can save Merlin now.” He walked her over to Arthur and handed up the reins once he’d mounted. With Percival’s help, he shifted Merlin’s prone form up in front of Arthur as they all ignored the small, unconscious sounds of pain he made. “Take care of them,” Gwaine said, worry evident in the thin line of his lips.

“Always,” Arthur replied firmly. “You’d better take good care of Llamrei. She’s in your hands while I’m gone.”

“On my life,” Gwaine vowed.

Arthur nodded before urging the horse into a swift sprint, cradling Merlin’s limp form in his free arm. Each pair of hoof beats made Merlin shift and moan quietly in his unconsciousness. “Easy Merlin,” Arthur murmured. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be fine.” All the while he watched with growing anxiety as the skyline of Camelot grew ever larger in the distance.


End file.
